Change of Heart by Sally Mandel

feelings she had for Brian seemed no more to her credit than the fact that she had been blessed with pretty eyes instead of beady ones and round breasts instead of the banana-shaped ones that used to fascinate and repel her in the old issues of National Geographic that her parents collected.
    It’s not nobility of spirit, she thought, but something chemical and scientific. And now, since she’d already said good-bye in theory, it remained only to do it in fact.
    She picked up the phone and dialed Brian’s office.
    An hour later she took a cab downtown to the Pierpont Morgan Library on Thirty-sixth Street. She was glad it was a bright day. Reality seemed so sharply in focus in the white light glaring off the stone buildings on Fifth Avenue. No room in this merciless sunshine for dreams.
    Brian’s voice had sounded apprehensive over the telephone. He listens to voices through that receiver all day long, Sharlie thought. He knows there’s something. And he said he wanted to talk to her. Could it be that he was planning to break off with her? Oh, Lord, let it be true, she said to herself. I’ll make him go first just in case.
    He was already waiting on the steps in front of the elegant old building, and his arm felt tense as he helped her out of the cab. They walked into the gray light of the entrance hall.
    â€œHow’re you doing?” he asked.
    â€œOkay.” But as she looked around at the graceful stone and wood surfaces, their lines soft in the shadows, her courage began to fail. She suddenly tugged at Brian’s arm and pulled him back outside into the brilliant sunshine. She sat down on the steps and brushed off a place next to her.
    â€œI think I’d rather stand,” he said, his face rigid. “What’s going on?”
    She clutched her arms around her knees. “You said you had something you wanted to talk about.”
    Brian shook his head. “Drop it.”
    They stared at each other. Sharlie opened her mouth to tell him, and finally she burst out, “We can’t go on this way. Oh, no… ”
    She couldn’t believe she had said it, and she began to laugh, making sounds halfway between giggles and chokes. She wiped her eyes and looked up at him to try again.
    â€œI’m sorry. I always laugh at funerals. I can’t help it.”
    â€œIf this is a funeral, you’ve been talking to your father.”
    â€œNo,” she lied.
    â€œYou’ve been putting me off since Pietro’s. I haven’t had one second with you alone.”
    â€œI needed to digest it. Oh, damn. Not the pasta.” She started to laugh nervously again.
    He looked at her closely. “You are not in great shape.”
    She held up her hand in protest. “No. No, I’m okay. Really. I’ve just needed to think everything out.” She was acutely aware of the long line of his leg near her shoulder. Just this one last time, she thought, let him be near me. “I’m getting a stiff neck,” she said, stretching to look up at him.
    He sat down and stared into her face with clear eyes that seemed to look straight through her skull. She swallowed hard.
    â€œI think you impressed him,” she said. “Even if you do work for Crazy Babs.” She gave him a feeble smile, but his face was grim. Not doing so hot here, she thought, and took a deep breath, wondering what nonsense would possibly come out next.
    â€œWhat I’ve been thinking about was us sitting there all domestic and cozy at Pietro’s and how unrealistic that was and how we should all quit kidding ourselves. I should quit kidding myself.”
    â€œYou’re rambling, Sharlie.”
    â€œI mean that I’m not … long for this world, and any ideas you or I might be cooking up about long-range … Oh God, I did it again.”
    Brian put his hand on hers and said, “This is the most incredible bullshit.”
    Sharlie stared at his tie—a paisley